For in That Sleep of Death What Dreams May Come
by Amatara
Summary: Coming face to face with evil is not Dale Cooper's prerogative. Albert Rosenfield would know. Missing scene fic set in the early second season; gen with some slashy undertones.


Brief warning: Contains mentions of sexual abuse of a minor, which may be considered triggery - though the mentioned event doesn't involve the main characters and the descriptions were kept entirely nongraphic. Just thought it would be best to put this on the label anyway.

Many thanks to Nemo the Everbeing for the beta.

Any kind of feedback is loved.

* * *

**For in That Sleep of Death (What Dreams May Come)**

* * *

Albert called himself a great many things, some less than flattering, but humble would never be one of them. He had no trouble admitting that, to himself or to anyone raising the issue. There were plenty of skills on which he prided himself, all painstakingly cultivated and honed to perfection. Attention to detail was at the top of his list. He didn't do sloppy jobs and he rarely, if ever, missed a clue out of oversight. So he wasn't too thrilled when, at the end of a grueling day's work that had turned up nothing useful unless he counted Cooper's fable of The Giant and the Dwarf, Cooper stopped him in the Great Northern's lobby with a faraway look and two fingers absently brushing Albert's coat.

"I've been thinking, Albert," he began, then waited for Albert to come to a full stop. Albert sighed and made a half-turn, nodding _go on_ as he untied his scarf. "I believe… it may be time we return to the source."

Coming from anyone else, Albert would file away that statement as just borderline lucid. In Cooper's world it was par for the course. So rather than try to make sense of it he just asked, "Source?" in about as dry a tone as he could.

Cooper nodded. "The scene of the crime, Albert. The train car where Laura was killed."

His tone was almost dreamy; the kind of dreaminess that someone less familiar with Cooper's oddities might well have mistaken for a lack of focus. Albert knew better. With a sigh, he contemplated the stuffed ferret nailed to the wall behind Cooper's head. He hadn't slept a wink, courtesy of a too-cheap mattress and pillows to match, not to mention the unpleasant image of trigger-happy psychopaths roaming the hallways. His nerves were frayed enough as it was without Cooper sweeping off on some vision quest or other. Which, as experience taught him, was exactly what conversations like these led up to.

"Care to explain why?" Albert asked irritably. "I had the place combed down, Coop. Anything tangible that was to be found there, we found. I don't see the point of a return visit; not unless you have reason to doubt either my competence or my men's." He scowled to press his point home, but found he was already feeling less irked than he should. Like it or not, he too intended to see this case through to the end, and he had to admit that science and skill had gotten them nowhere so far. He hadn't even figured out who shot Cooper, which he considered a matter of personal pride. True, they were federal agents, meaning risk came with the territory, but that sure as hell hadn't been his first thought when Gordon filled him in on Cooper's close call. Instead he had felt more like strangling someone - possibly Cooper himself. He planned on catching the culprit before he got tempted to do just that.

"I have absolute confidence that you've uncovered all tangible clues, Albert." Cooper's smile was altogether too sincere to be reassuring. "It's in the realm of the intangible that I'm hoping to find answers."

Albert rolled his eyes, but it was reflex more than anything. He might not care to admit it, but even Cooper's most outlandish instincts had an uncanny tendency to hit the mark. Right now those instincts were their best option, so if Cooper said 'train car', train car it would damn well have to be. Which didn't mean Albert had to be overjoyed at going back there, even in present company. That he tried to detach himself from the crimes he investigated didn't mean they couldn't get to him anyway, and there was something about this particular crime scene that had made his skin crawl.

"Fine," he said, shaking off the unwelcome thought. "God only knows where you're going with this, Coop, but I'm out of sensible options myself. So if you've got insensible ones, let's hear them."

Cooper took a breath, wincing halfway through the process; Albert averted his eyes with an effort. If Cooper had still seemed chipper this morning, right now he looked pasty enough that he had to be running on stamina alone. But such was the deal they had: Albert would refrain from fussing over Cooper, and Cooper in return would accept his professional judgment when he chose to offer it. Truth be told, he was getting tempted to offer it now - but then Cooper's shoulders lifted, and his eyes met Albert's levelly. "In all honesty, Albert, I'm not quite sure what I'm looking for… but I hope we'll find out once we're there."

Something in Cooper's stance left Albert with the sudden conviction that 'once we're there' meant 'we're leaving this second'. He glanced through the nearest window, dismayed to find the sky already fading to black. "Coop, it'll be pitch dark in twenty minutes." He applied what he hoped was a reasonable but no-nonsense tone. "Just driving there takes longer than that. Can't this wait until morning_?" _

The question was rhetorical, of course. Cooper had already buttoned up his coat.

* * *

Albert had been right, if only on one count. Nightfall did arrive in under twenty minutes, but the drive into the woods took less than that, due to Albert's insistence on taking the wheel. Like most people at the Bureau, he tended to skirt the speed limits with a nonchalance that Cooper found unsettling at the best of times. But in waters as troubled as these, Cooper never begrudged a person what anchors they could cast. If Albert felt in control when driving, he was welcome to it. And if today he took his curves just a little faster, clutched the wheel just a little harder than he should, Cooper bore it with his lips clamped tight.

"There we are," Albert muttered into the silence. Cooper watched him maneuver the car off the narrowing dirt track and switch off the engine. Looking out from behind the windscreen, he took a moment to acknowledge a twinge of apprehension before he pushed it aside.

The darkness was absolute, or close enough that it made no difference. A few dozen yards away the abandoned train car loomed, framed by swaying branches, its dark hulk blotting out what little light filtered down through the canopy. If inanimate objects wore expressions, Cooper thought with sudden conviction, this one would have looked goading. Daring them to step into its shadow. And yes, maybe that was a silly idea, but experience had taught him silliness was never enough reason to discard an observation.

Albert must have had a similar thought, because he put the key back in the ignition and restarted the car. This time he left the headlights on and the engine running. Cooper threw him the briefest of glances, enough to take in the stiff profile and the whitening knuckles on the clutch.

"What's your impression, Albert?" he asked, keeping his voice neutral. He curled his own fingers around the door handle, relishing the feel of the solid material under his touch.

"You asking for my professional opinion or my personal one?"

There was a raspy quality to Albert's voice that Cooper wasn't quite used to hearing. Albert wasn't easily fazed, so this was yet another aberration in what could already be described as a damn unusual case. "How about both?" Cooper steeped his words in caution.

Albert cleared his throat a little louder than he should have. "Is it a professional enough statement that this place gives me the creeps?"

Cooper's eyebrows rose. "You're not squeamish about crime scenes, Albert." He didn't make it a question. "That said, your statement is perfectly valid, and it only increases my belief that this place may hold a clue. That we might connect with something."

Albert looked very much like he would eat his suit rather than connect to anything here, and Cooper could hardly blame him. He couldn't deny that he himself felt linked to Twin Peaks in a way that defied both common sense and explanation. Some might even say improperly so. He was still slightly shocked at how easy it would have been to fall in love with Audrey Horne; the part of him that had turned her away was only too aware of the risks this place held. But another part had already embraced it, and it was the latter that seemed to be winning. It was a strange sensation, really. At some level he knew he was slipping, but he also knew he'd be unable to stop the slide until events had run their course. He only wished he could say what the destination would be.

"I'll get the flashlights," Cooper said, as much to halt his own fatalistic train of thought as because Albert seemed to need prodding. Swinging his legs out of the car went less smoothly than expected, and he teetered for a second until his ribs were done clamoring their protest. Albert met him at the trunk with a vaguely accusatory scowl.

"Coop -"

"Later, Albert." Retrieving two flashlights, he held one out to Albert like the truce that it was. He didn't expect Albert to just let him off the hook; exhaustion was tugging at him with increasing conviction, and the dull ache at his sternum had sharpened to a steady throb. But there were times and places to deal with such things, and this was neither.

To his relief, Albert accepted the flashlight along with the plea for reprieve. Cooper lagged a little distance behind as they crossed the muddy surface, watching the rhythmic sweep of light across the branches and struggling not to let it lull him into a trance. He trailed to a stop when he found himself blinking at a wall of corroded metal. The makeshift ladder that had been in place when he came here with Harry had been removed, probably to discourage trespassers. The step was now a long way up.

"Want a hand?" Albert's voice trickled down from about two feet above him.

Cooper nodded gratefully. "A hand would go a long way, Albert." He grasped the offered wrist, pressed his lips together and pulled up.

The jolt of fire across his chest wasn't unexpected, but the intensity of it still took him by surprise. Specks of grey flickered across his vision; somewhere between one breath and the next, his free hand had latched onto Albert's arm. He wasn't sure, but he thought he'd let spill a none-too-dignified noise, which would account for the look in Albert's eyes.

"All right?" Albert said, without relaxing his grip.

"In a moment," Cooper breathed, deciding to forego dignity in favor of candor. As a rule he put up a stoic front to Albert for the same reason that Albert fretted about him: it was simply how they dealt with having, as they said, history. Theirs had been good while it lasted, if probably better for Albert than him: Albert, who craved constancy more than anything, would have been perfectly content to settle at the tender age of twenty-three. It was Cooper who'd been afraid to commit, afraid of failure - a fear, he had to admit, he'd never quite grown out of. That, and within the confines of the Bureau it was simply too much of a risk, which was why they'd broken up before word got out. Sustaining a friendship had been walking a tightrope ever since; Cooper could see this time was going to be no different.

Sure enough, Albert raised his eyes heavenwards. "Cooper, whatever stuff you've been swallowing so far -"

"Aspirin," he supplied automatically, shutting up at the expression on Albert's face.

"I don't care if it's aspirin or Aunt Hattie's Healing Herbs for All Ailments," Albert snapped, "but I'm prescribing something stronger. And you damn better make sure you take it, at the very least for tonight. Do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly clear, Albert," Cooper said quietly, glancing down at the fingers still digging into his arm. It didn't take long for Albert to catch the hint and pull away, a flicker of embarrassment clouding his face. Cooper peered at him while catching his breath: Albert's stance, his expression, everything about him radiated worry. But not just, he realized with a jolt, about _him_. Now that he looked properly, he could see a sheen of perspiration beading Albert's face, and the hand that had pulled him up had been clammy. Cooper wondered now how he had missed it: that the worrying about him was doubling as a front, a smokescreen to keep some real, more pressing fear at bay. As to the nature of that fear... Let's just say Albert seldom divulged his private troubles voluntarily, not even to Cooper.

Which in no way implied Cooper couldn't find out.

* * *

If Cooper had intended him to be anything more than scenery on this jaunt, Albert hadn't been informed. They went through the motions of surveying the train car, Albert summarizing what evidence he and his team had found there while Cooper supplied vague nods of assent. But he ran out of juice soon enough; there wasn't much to say that Cooper didn't know already. By the time they found themselves back at the doorway – a fact which filled Albert with a sense of relief bordering on the irrational – Cooper had switched to a different mental plane altogether. Without warning he sat down cross-legged on the floor, with his flashlight across his lap and his eyes half-closed, as if listening for… Well, whatever went 'bump' in the night in a way only Cooper was able to hear. Albert just stood, the wary observer, until restlessness spurred him back into action.

Darkness clung to him like a moldy blanket, and Albert found himself hunching his shoulders as he walked. He wasn't claustrophobic as a rule, but this place was stubbornly refusing to conform to any rules, including that one. Just because he didn't go around flouting his instincts didn't mean he didn't have them. Right now every instinct he possessed was screaming at him to get out while he could, and it took all his resolve to keep the impulse at bay. Somehow the flashlight only made it worse. It didn't so much chase the blackness as etch it out, sharpen the edges to make every nook and cranny seem threatening. That, and he was getting the creeping sense they weren't alone here. Albert might not be a field agent in name, but he knew all too well what being watched felt like. Only this wasn't that feeling. No, what he felt – and damn him, he was starting to sound more like Cooper all the time – was far vaguer, like the shadow of some presence which had left its imprint here and then wandered elsewhere.

What was even more insane was that the presence felt _familiar_.

With the sun down, the temperature was dropping fast, and he told himself it was simply the cold that led him to turn up his collar and thrust his free hand deep into his jacket pocket. He was acting like an idiot. The train car was just a train car, and there was no goddamn presence, nothing that justified paranoia. There was just a crime scene, which was nothing new; that, and the deepening –

_– darkness, trickling across his skin, seeping into his lungs until he's choking on it and all he wants to do is scream, but he mustn't scream, he mustn't, or they'll know and they'll get him they'll get him they'll get _

Albert's eyes snapped open only after he realized he'd squeezed them shut. His pulse was hammering in his ears like a bad horror-flick soundtrack, and it took him a few seconds to get his breathing under control. Disoriented, he braced a hand against the side of the train car and sneaked a glance at Cooper, who didn't seem to have stirred from his spot.

Where the hell had that come from?

Imagination wasn't strange to him: to outsmart a killer, you couldn't afford not to have it. But he'd never been prone to fantasy, so what was it about this place that had him all strung up like this? It wasn't just exhaustion or the fall of night; he'd been rattled last time he was here as well. There had been the same lingering unease, the same vague sense of something nagging at the back of his mind, like an itch that defied all attempts at scratching. Except he hadn't been alone then. His men had been in here, working their asses off to scrape together what evidence they could, and he hadn't had the luxury to indulge in flights of fancy. Now there was just Cooper, which was a whole other story. Hell, the man collected flights of fancy like a ten-year-old collected butterflies. And maybe, just maybe, this time Cooper was right. Maybe they were reaching a point where every clue was relevant, no matter how outrageous it seemed. Maybe Albert just had to believe _–_

_– there's darkness, not a speck of light anywhere. There's darkness and his back aches and his knees ache, which is only natural if one is curled up for too long in a too-cramped hiding place, but knowing that doesn't make the ache go away. At least he's small for his age, small and skinny and flexible; on most days that's no reason for being thrilled, but right now it's a good thing. Because if he moves… No. He doesn't want to know what would happen if he moves. The closet is dusty, like closets in classrooms are bound to be, and he's sure there are spiders, but that's nothing compared to what's outside. He can't see because the door is shut tight, but that doesn't matter. He doesn't see, but he can – _

Feel it.

Oh – oh, fuck, but he could, couldn't he? He _could_ feel it; for a second, as he struggled to shake off something close to paralysis, the vision lingered and then suddenly it hit him this wasn't a vision, or a dream or a nightmare. It was a memory, and it came flooding back in a headlong rush of realization and terror.

Albert's first impulse was to shove the image away, to tear it out at the root and trample it like the idiotic claptrap he wanted it to be. But reason had been his touchstone for as long as he could remember, and right now reason told him this was real. If it was, he had an obligation to face it. Which meant acknowledging the possibility that the presence he'd sensed here was real too, because now he clearly recalled –

_– the malice of it, the queasy pleasure it takes in doing what it does. It's so close, as close as the sounds still reaching his ears despite the hands he has clamped across them. A high-pitched keening that speaks of helplessness and horror; then a low, cackling chuckle, making every hair on his body stand on end –_

The crash of metal on metal resounded like a bombshell. Albert gasped and fumbled through one heartbeat, two, three frantic heartbeats before it dawned on him he'd dropped his flashlight, which was rolling in a lazy arc across the floor. He panted shakily, fighting to pull air into lungs that had constricted to the point of asphyxia. He needed control and he needed it now, but control was a frayed thread hovering just beyond his reach. That voice: a little girl's, terrified. And there was another voice, faceless, feeding the terror. If he focused, he could almost hear it, almost see her face...

_She can't be older than eight, which makes her two years his senior; he caught a glimpse of her before he ducked into hiding. He doesn't know her, but then he knows few older schoolmates, especially girls. Who she is doesn't matter. _What _she is is in peril, and he's the only one who knows, the only one who could possibly act. Except he doesn't. He's too scared to even try. _

Dimly, Albert was aware of Cooper's eyes on him, radiating alarm. He made a half-hearted move to retrieve the fallen flashlight, but something grey and shimmering passed across his vision; the need for air became acute. He was stumbling towards the exit before Cooper had even got to his feet.

The car's headlights met him like an epiphany. He made it to the hood of the car and ground his palms into it, soaking up the contact with something mundane, inanimate, incontestably normal. Whatever could distract from –

_– faint gasps, growing more ragged by the moment, eclipsed by creaking floorboards and snatches of wild laughter. Then, mercifully, silence; the drag of a door being pulled back open. The man's jeering whisper, 'See you later, sweetheart...' followed by two sets of footsteps, one frantic, one calm, fading in the distance, until he finally scrambles out of the closet, feeling like he'll never be able to laugh again or breathe again and oh God he can't –_

"Albert!" He dragged himself back by the thread of Cooper's voice. Cooper's hand had found his elbow, guiding him until his ass was properly supported by the front bumper – a position Albert had to admit had its merits. He felt sick and very light-headed. "Stay put, Albert, I'll get you some water." Cooper's tone was pleasantly neutral, like they were just discussing a minor logistical setback. "And a donut for the sugars, perhaps? Seeing as we skipped dinner, I asked Lucy to put some in the trunk; raspberry jelly, I do believe. I'm sure they're still nice and juicy. In fact I wouldn't mind having one my–"

He didn't get to finish. Albert's stomach, which had barely settled into grudging obedience, took its chance to mount a rebellion. Not five seconds later, he was coughing stale coffee and pie into the grass at Cooper's feet.

Cooper _tsk-_ed in a way that Albert could swear radiated approval, then disappeared behind the car. He returned blessedly donut-free but carrying a small canteen.

"You're insufferable, you know that?" Albert managed, accepting the water without meeting Cooper's eyes. He shivered; he felt wiped out, like he'd just recovered from a particularly nasty bout of the flu. But the initial shock had ebbed enough that he now felt vaguely self-conscious about the scene he'd created. Cooper's methods, damn the man to hell, were nothing if not effective.

"So you keep reminding me." Cooper smiled, a tiny smile that was too much lips and too little teeth to be convincing. His hand brushed, then squeezed the inside of Albert's wrist. The gesture wasn't unprecedented – they permitted themselves some leniency when there wasn't an audience – but still enough of a nonsequitur that Albert flinched. Something big and bulky stirred below his breastbone; he quelled it with the ruthlessness of habit. "You saw something." The intensity in Cooper's voice lent it a strangely fragile undertone. It was a testament to Cooper's worldview that he'd ask that question and not one more grounded in reality – like, say, what the hell's gotten into you, or what's your excuse for freaking out at a crime scene? Now those would be perfectly reasonable questions to ask.

Albert took a cautious sip from the canteen. "Not see," he said finally. His throat felt raw as if from running. "Remember."

"Something connected to this case?" Albert nodded, then paused as Cooper perched beside him on the hood of the car, their knees momentarily jostling. "Can you tell me?"

Albert weighed his options. Maybe later, in the Great Northern's comforting drabness, he could confront this, but... "Not now."

"Okay," Cooper replied, as simply as that. "Then I suggest we head back to town. I'll take the wheel, if you don't mind." He was already upright and holding out a hand for the keys.

Albert blinked, startled by the abruptness of the transition. "What about you?" he asked. "Don't you want to go on looking for… whatever it was you were looking for?"

"I don't think I'm going to find it here, Albert." Cooper's face was grave. "But something tells me you may already have."

* * *

Rounding the last curve towards the Great Northern, Cooper pondered the tenacity of human instinct. He believed in free will as firmly as anyone, but even the most forceful of spirits – a description he liked to think applied to him at least part of the time – were pray to instincts they couldn't hope to control. Take this place. Even now, in spite of everything he knew about the hotel, its petty intrigues, its _owner_, the drive up here never failed to energize him. He still felt that same little thrill when its buildings came into view, their massive bulk nestled between age-old firs. And he wasn't the only one affected. Albert would never admit to any love for this town, but even he relaxed visibly as they pulled onto the parking lot, an oasis not of solitude but of human bustle and chaos. At the moment, that was something they could both appreciate.

He toured the asphalt for a bit until he found a proper parking spot, under a nice, sturdy tree guaranteed to provide shade the next morning. Beside him, Albert still sported the approximate complexion of a man who'd just crossed the Atlantic by sailboat. His hands were folded in his lap, the need for nicotine, if nothing else, apparent in their whiteness.

Cooper got out and carefully locked doors and trunk, then circled to where Albert was already digging for matches. "Hand me the keys, will you," Albert grumbled. He was contemplating his as-yet-unlit cigarette with an expression of mixed fascination and disgust. "I'm off to have another look at those autopsy reports. Maybe I missed something in Madeleine's postmortem..." He trailed off, leaving Cooper with the words _flight reflex _blinking like red neon warning signs in his head_. _

"Albert, we both know the chances of that." He wasn't sure whether to wield a firm tone or a gentle one, but he'd be an irresponsible colleague and an even worse friend if he allowed Albert to immerse himself in reports, instead of facing whatever had affected him. "You didn't miss anything during the autopsy, you never do. Maybe we're both missing some other clue, some new insight, but –"

"All the more reason to keep on looking." Albert lit his cigarette with an angry flick of his hand. He took an unsteady drag before puffing the smoke back out through his teeth, glaring at Cooper as if defying him to protest. His spine was so straight it looked painful. Cooper saw, because he knew very well how a straight back could snap; it had happened to him, after all.

A gust of wind snagged at the tendrils of cigarette smoke. Cooper frowned; he couldn't help himself. "Albert, the usual reservations about nicotine aside – should you be smoking on an empty stomach?"

Albert's glare could have welded steel. "I hit my threshold for useless suggestions two hours after I first crossed this town's border, Cooper, so do me a favor. Don't add insult to injury." He lifted the cigarette back to his lips.

Cooper surprised himself by catching hold of Albert's wrist, for no obvious reason he could think of. None besides reflex; instinct; muscle memory. He didn't regret what he'd shared with Albert and he didn't regret it had ended, but there were times when he thought he missed it anyway. Amazing how resilient memories could be.

Albert's fingers tightened on the cigarette. "Coop..." Just the use of that name counted as a concession. Cooper wondered if he should feel guilty for relying on Albert's weakness to draw him out. Possibly so, except it was hard to muster guilt when he didn't feel at all like the strong one right now.

"I can't pass judgment on what happened in that train car, Albert." He let his arm drop to his side. "But you clearly experienced something that defies understanding. While I understand the impulse to find distraction from a potential source of weakness, I don't think it's wise in this instance. Especially if what you saw could be relevant to the case."

"It's _connected _to the case. I never said it was relevant." Albert was sizing him up in a way that felt distinctly unsettling. "You do see the irony of you counseling me to confront 'a potential source of weakness'_, _don't you? Last time I checked, I believe you were the one having some difficulties accepting the weakness implied by a busted rib."

"Albert..."

"Forget it. I'm getting you that prescription; I trust I won't need to shove it down your throat." Albert dropped the cigarette butt and flattened it beneath his heel, the gesture effectively stifling the topic. "Now, before I say another word, it's about time you told me what the hell you were hoping to find out there."

"I was looking to communicate with BOB," Cooper said simply, then expanded, "The man I saw in my dreams." For once when he mentioned dreams or visions, Albert's expression was free of cynicism. "At least, at first I believed he was just a man. But there was an aura of something darker as well; like a shadow… lingering long after the presence that's cast it has gone."

Albert's jaw twitched. "So you returned to the crime scene…"

"… to see if I would encounter that same presence there," Cooper nodded.

"Did you?"

"Yes. But it was vague, even vaguer than the dream. It didn't teach me anything." He fell into step beside Albert, who had started walking into a direction parallel with the main entrance. The light that spilled out looked warm and inviting; for now, it would have to wait.

"I swear to you, Cooper," Albert muttered, "half of the time you're spouting talk like that, it just goes right by me. The other half I'd be damned if I knew what the hell you're talking about." Soft soles crunched on the gravel. "Which is why it scares the crap out of me that just for once I dounderstand."

Cooper took an icy breath. Wherever this was leading, he knew Albert well enough to see that silence was by far the best encouragement. So he kept his mouth shut, just allowing his elbow to graze Albert's arm as they walked, slowly, until they neared the low fence that bordered the parking lot. Albert came to a standstill at its base.

"That freak presence you say you felt." He swallowed, gaze raking the treetops. "I felt it too. More to the point, I've felt it _before_."

Cooper blinked, taken aback. "When?"

"Elementary school. I was – six, maybe. I was hanging around in the classroom over lunch break, when I heard voices, a girl's and a man's, coming from outside. The girl was crying. The man..." Unsteady breath. "Well, something told me I'd better not be there when he came in, so I hid. Just ducked into a closet and shut the door behind me." Albert shivered; a razor's-edge of shock had started to creep into his tone. "I never saw a face, but I heard it all. I, ah – I suppose I don't need to paint you a picture. I certainly didn't need one to get the gist of it; the sounds told me more than any textbook definition of 'rape' ever could. And all the time there was this feeling: intense, malicious. Sickening. Like the shadow of something... not human at all."

"Like the shadow at the scene of Laura's murder," Cooper said, spine curling into a shiver of its own.

Albert's head jerked, not a nod but no denial either. "I never told a soul. Worse: I apparently forgot it had even happened. It only came back to me today in that train car." Between one word and the next, his tone had gone flat. "I don't doubt I found some perfectly rational, perfectly worthless argument to convince myself not to speak up at the time. The truth is I was scared shitless."

_It's all right_ was on the tip of Cooper's tongue before he bit it back down; they'd just be hollow words, based on an assertion that was shaky at best. Instead he snuck a hand against the small of Albert's back, working his fingers into the fabric of his trenchcoat. Albert tensed, but didn't break the contact. "How much guilt do you believe ought to be piled on the shoulders of a six-year-old, Albert?" he said quietly. "Of course you were scared. No matter how precocious you may have been –"

"Age had nothing to do with it. Where there's awareness, there's responsibility, and I knew perfectly well that what was happening was no damn good. That made it my responsibility to act. I just didn't." Albert's look, which had been fixed on a point somewhere at the far horizon, lurched back to the gravel at their feet. "Instead it took me half a fucking lifetime to even have the guts to face this thing."

"Delayed shock is a perfectly natural human response."

"So is passionate murder," Albert replied, stone-faced. "That doesn't make it excusable. Forgive me the indulgence, Cooper, but I like to at least pretend the human race has reached a level of civilization where so-called 'natural' human reactions are kept to a certain moral standard –"

"Albert, let me tell you something." Cooper turned and squared his shoulders; the occasion seemed to warrant it somehow. "I've never told anyone before, so please consider yourself taken into confidence. You aren't the only one who's had prior contact with the presence we encountered here. I have, too." He glanced aside surreptitiously, as much to confirm he had Albert's attention as to take his mind off his own suddenly frantic heartbeat. "Several times, in fact. While we were investigating Teresa Banks' murder. During the Irving Ford case. On the night Caroline Earle was killed." He took a breath; the list went on for a while longer, but it was hard enough voicing this as it was. "And the very first time I remember was in the weeks before my mother died."

"But..." Albert stared, one kind of shock jostling for space with another. "It can't be. I mean – it can't all have been the same man, can it? Teresa Banks; the Ford case. I grew up in Seattle, while you..." He paused, as if hit by a thought. "Didn't you tell me your mother had died a natural death?"

"To all outward appearances," Cooper said, and clenched his teeth around a shudder. It had to be well below freezing by now; the cold was seeping through his coat, making his chest ache. "But I agree. It's highly unlikely the same person is responsible. Still, there's a connection. We've both felt it."

"So, what?" Albert said shakily. "It wasn't one guy but several, who all happened to be dragging around a severely screwed-up psychic aura?" At some point the sarcasm had slipped back into his voice.

"Or we're not dealing with a human being at all." Cooper traced his palm across Albert's back, not sure if he did it more to steady Albert or himself. "I can't promise you we'll crack this puzzle, Albert. Even if we can, it won't undo what happened. But I do give you my word that I'll try everything within my power, in dream or reality, to bring this evil to justice." He paused to pull his own coat tighter about him, and forced a small smile. "Though, for tonight, I may just settle for a warm fire and a cup of strong, black joe. What do you say?"

Albert huffed, but a flicker of gratitude crossed his face. "I'd say – you've made worse suggestions this evening."

"I have, haven't I?" He drew back his hand and turned towards the entrance, squinting briefly against the glare. "How are you feeling, Albert?" Quietly.

"I'll have to get back to you on that," Albert muttered. "As soon as we've caught this monster; not before."

"Fair enough," Cooper said, and let the light beckon him in.


End file.
